


Your Blood, My Hands

by whitedandelions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Groundhog Day, Horror, M/M, Mystery, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedandelions/pseuds/whitedandelions
Summary: When Wizarding Society is on the brink of destruction, the remaining wizards find an ancient spell to reverse time. But the spell’s in an unknown language, and there are more intricacies than they can ever hope to understand.Because although the spell’s worked, Harry’s stuck on a day that never seems to end. No matter what he tries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works since Halloween, and I was trying to finish it all, but didn't have time. So I changed it into a WIP instead. Rating will go up near the end.
> 
> Warning: It does get quite dark in the beginning. Mentions of blood + a corpse.
> 
> Thank you to Chiggy and Cybrid for helping me with the summary. <3

**Second of May, Year of 1946**

**Loop Iteration ???**

There was blood on his hands. It wasn’t just a few droplets; his hands were actually  _ stained _ with the sheer amount of it.

And when he looked down, the blood continued. It pooled at his knees. As his gaze traveled, his stomach curled in revulsion just as his eyes caught sight of the source. Dumbledore’s body laid headless at the foot of Dumbledore’s own desk.

He gagged, the smell of it finally reaching his nose, and he barely kept himself from raising his hands to his face, remembering at the last second the blood on his hands. His body felt like retching, but when he tried, he realized there was nothing in his stomach.

His eyes traveled upward. 

Tom stared at him, his face beatific in its happiness. He was sitting cross-legged on Dumbledore’s desk, a skull balanced precariously in his hand. It seemed to be just carved, by hand judging by the knife he could see next to Tom. As Harry watched in horror, Tom brought the skull to his mouth, drinking blood-red liquid.

His mind made the jump before he could stop it; the skull had to be Dumbledore’s.

He rose slowly to his feet, his hands searching for his wand. He couldn’t find it.

“Looking for this?” asked Tom. He had set the skull down as Harry was searching frantically and instead of the skull, Harry’s holly wand rested. “Come here, Harry.”

Harry had no choice to obey. 

When he got closer, Tom was humming a tune he didn’t know. There was a glowing tempus behind Harry; he could see the reflection in Tom’s red eyes.

“Do you still love me now?” asked Tom, when Harry was standing right in front of him. Harry didn’t think Tom expected a response, but Harry grit his teeth anyway.

“No,” he said, revulsion curling even as he said it, and Tom’s eyes were delighted.

“We’ll be spending eternity in Hell together, so don’t be a bore, Harry,” said Tom, his tone light, and Harry didn’t expect Tom to move as quickly as he did. 

Tom crushed their lips together, their teeth clacking and Harry tasted blood. For a split second, horror filled him as he remembered what Tom had been drinking, but then he registered the sharp pain in his lips and the sweet taste from Tom’s. It was his own blood he was tasting.

“The clock’s ticking,” said Tom, when they were apart. Harry watched as if time was in slow motion; Tom’s hand raising and pressing the tip of Harry’s own wand to Harry’s chest.

It seemed as if time stood still as Tom spoke the spell’s incantation, and even though there was a roaring in his ears, Harry already knew what was coming.

He closed his eyes in defeat, just as the Tempus charm stroke the next hour.

* * *

**Thirtieth of July, Year of 1998**

There was arguing in the room next door. Harry should be in there, but he was more worried about comforting his younger sister. Besides, he was in there just a few minutes before, and it seemed like the adults were about to get nothing done. 

Peony’s hold tightened on him, her eleven-year-old body flinching as the sound of a vase shattering echoed into the room. He immediately curled her body closer to his, trying his best to project the feeling of safety to his younger sister.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promised, his voice soft.

“They’ve never fought like this before,” she said, her voice trembling, and he sighed softly.

He hated that he couldn’t tell her what their parents were fighting about. But at the same time, he was grateful his parents forbade it. It would hurt Peony to know that Harry was leaving. Especially so soon after Fred Weasley had been killed.

It was the main reason Harry had decided to go through with it. He was the strongest wizard left under the age limit the spell had specified, and everyone knew only Harry would be able to survive the jump to the past. It drained the caster’s magic until it was satisfied, and even if the caster had no more magic, it would continue draining even when the caster was a mere husk of what they had once been.

That was the only thing they knew about the spell. It had been found in the Black’s library, hidden behind a multitude of wards. The book itself nearly tore off the hand of the witch that had found it. Hermione had a fear of books for weeks afterward.

There had been a note attached, and that was the only reason they knew it sent wizards back in time. The spell itself was in an unknown language, one that no one left around could even try to understand. And they didn’t dare go to any Muggles for help.

Not when they had lost the War. 

Harry didn’t know when it had all gone downhill; not even his parents were willing to speak of it. Too many people had died because of it. 

And although Harry knew it was dangerous to be sent back without knowing, he didn’t want to press. His parents’ eyes were already tortured enough.

And it was easy enough to guess. The turning point was Albus Dumbledore’s death. As long as Harry could prevent that, the fate of the world would be changed forever.

They had already done extensive research on the day Dumbledore died. He had lived a long life and his parents knew he was the one to go to. 

Harry had never met him. He didn’t know a  _ thing _ about Dumbledore. But he knew he was someone he could trust. And as long as they worked together, they could save the Wizarding Society.

“I have your birthday present,” said Peony, suddenly breaking the silence. There was still arguing, but it seemed muted now compared to his sister’s bright green eyes. She pulled a box out of the pocket in her robes, placing it in his hand.

He kept his other arm curled around his sister, opening it wandlessly. 

There was a locket in there. There was no crest; it was nameless, a simple nondescript heart. He raised it into the air with magic, and he felt his eyes burning with unshed tears. 

Peony knew. She wasn’t supposed to. 

“How’d you find out?” he asked.

“There’s a picture of us in there,” said Peony, ignoring his question. She was crying now, but her voice was normal. “It’s charmed to only show it when you say my name.”

It was hard for him to stay composed. He wanted to cry, but he knew it wasn’t right if he did. This spell was a chance, not a death sentence. It was hard to remember when he knew he was leaving the next day; they had waited until a day before his birthday, the very last day before he couldn’t leave anymore. But his sister was eleven.

Eleven.

In a normal world, she would have gotten her Hogwarts letter. She would be at his school, and probably sorted into Gryffindor. She would have learned Quidditch, gotten friends like Hermione and Ron, and maybe even pulled some pranks on the Slytherins.

Instead, she was still at home. A home that wasn’t a home. It was a safehouse, the last safehouse for all of Wizarding Society.

And he was their only hope out of this.

He was going to make sure his little sister got a better life.

So instead of crying, he said his sister’s name softly. When he opened the heart, it was of them. His parents, his sister, and him.

He pulled his little sister into a tight hug, his eyes still burning. “Thank you,” he whispered, and he wished he would never have to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Second of May, Year of 1946**

He thought that he would be knocked out during the spell.  But he was awake for every part of it.  The blood giving.  The magic draining.  His parents’ crying faces as they continued chanting as he writhed in excruciating pain in the middle of the carefully-drawn star on the floor.

He had bitten through his lip in his determination to keep from screaming.  Now, as the spell spat him out, he stumbled straight into a door, falling through it and onto his knees.

There was commotion in front of him, but Harry was too drained to look up.  His magic was still gone.

A hand lifted his head. 

He blinked groggily up, his vision swimming at the sudden movement.  When it cleared, he was looking into a pair of intense brown eyes.

He didn’t know who this was.  His heartbeat panicked as he realized this, knowing immediately they weren’t on the day they had planned for.  This wasn’t the day of Dumbledore’s death.  If they were, they would be in one of the strongholds.   And his parents and he had went over painstakingly care to name every single person that resided in them.

But they had done every part of the spell correctly.

How could _this_ be the day where everything had gone wrong?

“He’s panicking,” said the wizard, boredom clear to hear in his voice, and even though Harry _was_ panicking, it irked him.  He couldn’t concentrate on it though, not when it felt like he was going to faint out of pure anxiety.

He curled up, his hands on each side of his head as he tried his best to breathe normally. 

_In, out_ , he repeated frantically to himself, and he clenched his eyes shut, trying his best to calm down.

Then there was a tart, artificial sourness in his mouth, and when he swallowed, he was able to breathe again.

Healing magic was on his bottom lip later, and when he opened his eyes, Dumbledore was staring back at him, a kind smile on his face.

“Your hair’s red,” he blurted out.

“Thank you, my boy,” said Dumbledore, as jolly as his parents had ever described him.  “Not a spell, just my good luck.”  The older man kindly led him to the seat in front of his desk, and Harry realized with a jolt that they were in Hogwarts.  He would remember the Headmaster’s office for all his life.  Fawkes was even sitting on the perch.  Harry had the phoenix’s card back in the future and it was one of his most treasured possessions.  But this Fawkes didn’t even look at him.

“Who is he?” asked the other wizard, ire clear to hear in his voice.  “Are you really letting an unknown man into your office, Albus?”

“He’s already in here, Tom,” said Dumbledore, and he sounded amused.  Harry wasn’t sure why, not when Tom’s face got even darker at Dumbledore’s words.  “We might as well hear him out.”

“This will be good,” said Tom, darkly, and he turned to Harry.  “I guess it’s not as if he’s a threat.”  He scoffed.  “Not a lick of magic.  Are you a squib?”

Squibs weren’t looked down upon in the past. 

But in the future, they had been one of the main reasons the Muggles were able to find out about magic.  They didn’t have any magic, so they were eager to claim monetary rewards by giving up their relative’s names to the Muggles.  He hated them.  He wasn’t able to stop the revulsion from crossing his face and the visceral reaction the name elicited from him.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m not one of _them_.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows were high on his face.  Interest colored Tom’s.

“Oh?” asked Tom, and there was amusement in his tone now.  “Don’t like squibs, do you?”

He had given himself away. 

Shame curled in his belly. 

Only a minute into the past and he had already screwed up.  They should have sent someone else.

They should have sent Hermione.

But he was the only one they could’ve sent.  Hermione might have a way with her words, but Harry was here because he was the only one the spell could’ve chosen.  He had to put his insecurities behind him.  There was a reason it was him here, and not his best friend.

“No, I don’t,” he said. 

There was a brief look of disappointment on Dumbledore’s face.  Harry flinched at it, and looked away, and flushed heavily when he saw the intense stare of Tom’s.  He wondered desperately who this ‘Tom’ was, and just why he would be meeting with Dumbledore, of all people.  He wasn’t a student; that much was obvious by the lack of a House crest on his robes.  Though Harry already suspected that Tom would’ve been a Slytherin if he was still a student. 

“Then where’s your magic?” continued Tom, thoughtfully.  “If you aren’t a Squib…”

Harry yelped out of surprise as Tom’s arm shot out, the grip painful on his forearm.  “You’re drained of magic.  Are you an imbecile?”  His tone was biting, and Harry couldn’t look away from Tom’s glare, despite hearing Dumbledore try to make a sound of protest, “You’ll die if you don’t get some potions in you.”

He paled, and he knew Tom was right.  The consequences of magical exhaustion were dire.  But he hadn’t been thinking about what would happen after the ritual.  He had assumed he would have fallen into a deep sleep and awake only after his reserves had been replenished.  But he hadn’t been able to sleep or eat and was thrust straight into an anxiety attack and then a hostile situation with his heartbeat elevated. 

He blinked rapidly, his vision swimming as dizziness threatened to overtake him as he slowly realized the state his body was in.

Surprisingly, Tom steadied him as he stumbled.  His touch was gentle, despite the hard grip he had on Harry’s arm.  “Don’t sleep,” the man commanded, his grip tightening.  “Albus, I trust our meeting was sufficient?”

“Fawkes,” said Dumbledore, instead.  Tom let go suddenly and stepped back as Fawkes spread his wings.  Although he hadn’t been very interested when Harry had first appeared, now the phoenix was regarding Harry with interest.  He cawed loudly but didn’t move.

Dumbledore nodded once, reaching out a hand to stroke the phoenix’s feathers in thanks.  “I will take him myself, my boy.”  He didn’t wait for a response, instead reaching out and grabbing Harry away from Tom’s side.  Harry stumbled into him, his limbs feeling as if they were moving throughout water, and barely stifled the gasp as Dumbledore side-apparated him.  Tom’s outraged face was the last thing he saw of Dumbledore’s office.

* * *

They weren’t in the Infirmary.  Harry had thought Dumbledore would have taken him there, but instead, they were in a small room.  Potions littered the shelves. 

Dumbledore was humming a jolly tone, even as he undertook the difficult task of transfiguring the rickety chair into a grand bed.  He gestured to it, and then turned, scanning the shelves for the potions Harry needed.

Harry sank gratefully onto the bed, his breath evening out as he realized Dumbledore had taken him here to get away from Tom.  He wondered if Tom knew that he, himself, had provided Dumbledore the means to do so. 

Tom couldn’t be older than him, but Dumbledore had seemed wary of him, anyway.  He wondered if this was important – if the spell had deposited him here not for Dumbledore, but for this unknown wizard.

He only regarded it seriously for a second before shaking his head.  He was being silly.  Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of their time.  If he wasn’t here to save Dumbledore from his death, perhaps Dumbledore needed someone to tell him of the future.  To guide him into creating a world that could withstand the scrutiny of the Muggles. 

Perhaps he was to stay here for the long run.  Harry hadn’t had much hope of returning back home, but he had at least hoped that the spell would make the solution fast and short to fix.  But it was such a big affair, it would make sense that he would have to stay here longer.

He smiled.  The spell hadn’t failed.  He just had to tell Dumbledore everything and hope that would be enough.  When Dumbledore handed him the potions, he didn’t hesitate on downing them.

“What is your name, my boy?”

“Harry James Potter,” he said, and then clapped his hands to his mouth. 

Dumbledore had dosed him with Veritaserum.  He felt tears prickling at the edge of his eyes.  How could he have been so stupid?  Veritaserum was clear and odorless, but Harry shouldn’t have trusted something he hadn’t tested himself.

His Occlumency barriers weren’t even up because of his drained magic.  He reached desperately for it and stilled when a hand touched his.

“It’s a necessary precaution, Harry,” said Dumbledore, his voice kind.  “Don’t reach for your magic; you’ll die if you use any more.”

“I would have told you everything if you just asked,” he said, his words biting, and watched as Dumbledore blinked in surprise.  Since he was under Veritaserum, what he said was the truth.

Dumbledore’s shoulders relaxed.  “You are a Potter.”  He didn’t elaborate on what that meant for him.  “How did you get into my office this morning?”

“I’m from the year of 1998.  I’m eighteen now.”  And he was, because the potion let him say it. It might not be his birthday today, whatever day it was, but when he was sent here a day had passed.  And that meant today was the day that was supposed to be his birthday.   “I was sent here from the future.”

“A spell?  A ritual…” pondered Dumbledore.  “That’s why your magic was drained.”

Harry bowed his head in an answer.

“Why to this day?  Grindelwald has been defeated.  The future should be …”

He fell silent, realization easy to see in his eyes.  “Of course, there is one more Dark Lord to come.”

“Who?” he asked, but Dumbledore shook his head.

“Just mere suspicion, my dear boy.”  He paused, looking like he was going to ask more, and then he frowned.

“You should sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he protested.  He needed to tell Dumbledore everything even _if_ he had dosed him with Veritaserum.  He was the only way out of here.

Dumbledore’s smile was kind.  “You’ll be here for a while, Harry.  When you wake, we can talk.”

When Dumbledore apparated out, he still looked worried.

Harry wondered why.  Then to his horror, he realized that Dumbledore never asked him the correct questions. He thought that the future was bleak because of a future Dark Lord.  But it was because of the Muggles.

But he was too tired to do anything now.  The effect of Veritaserum was wearing off, and the other potion was setting in.  It would help replenish his reserves as he slept. 

He wished he had his reserves back.  Even if it was to cast a simple Tempus charm to tell the time.  He had no clue what year he was in, or if it was morning or night. 

But Dumbledore was right.  He would be here for a while. 

He let his eyes slip close, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

He startled awake.  The room was dark.  There was no source of light in the small room.  He blinked rapidly, his heart beating fast as he wondered what had woken him up.

Then he felt it.

The tip of a wand against his throat.

“Hullo again, _Harry_.”

The tone was light, even cherry.  But it still sent shivers down his spine.

“Tom,” he whispered.

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to use my first name,” said Tom.

“You’re using mine,” he pointed out.  “And besides, I don’t know your last name.”

“Oh?” there was delight in the man’s tone again.  Harry wondered spitefully if the wizard was dropped on his head as a baby.  He was _creepy_ and _weird_.  No wonder Dumbledore was wary of him.

“You’re right, of course.  But don’t you wonder how I know your name at all?  You’ve never told me.”

He only told Dumbledore.  “What’d you do to him?” he asked, wary, and Tom laughed, the sound echoing in the small room.

“I’m not stupid enough to challenge the strongest wizard of our time, Harry.”  Tom’s tone was chiding.  “Not like you, the imbecile as you are.”

“What’d you say?” he said, rearing up in anger.

“I wasn’t the one to make my dislike of Muggles clear in front of his face,” said Tom.  “I don’t know what future you’re from, but Dumbledore isn’t to be trusted in any timeline.  He dosed you with Veritaserum, didn’t he?”

He wanted to protest, wanted to claim that Dumbledore was a good guy, but the fact remained that Harry didn’t know much beyond his parents’ blind faith in the man.  He had always been a figurehead, and Harry didn’t know if he was any different in this timeline.  He _had_ dosed Harry against his will.

“Well, since you’re probably too stupid to figure out,” said Tom, conversationally, “I put a tracking and listening spell on you when you were taken away.  I knew Dumbledore wouldn’t leave me with you.  Still shocking the old coot didn’t notice the spells, but he must’ve been too excited about you being from the future.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked, instead of reacting to Tom’s words.  Because if he did, he was sure Tom would just find another way to insult him.

“Obviously I’m here to pick your mind clean,” said Tom.  “Knowing the future won’t hurt.  Especially since you seem to know information about the next Dark Lord.”

“There _is_ no next Dark Lord,” he spat out, and was rewarded with a long silence.

“I don’t understand,” said Tom eventually, his voice small, and then suddenly the wizard hissed in pain.  Harry’s eyes had eventually adjusted in the dark, and he saw the way the wizard suddenly keeled over.

Dumbledore must have figured out that Tom was here.  His heart brightened, even as he worried that he couldn’t trust Dumbledore.  He would have to worry about that after Dumbledore saved him.

Tom suddenly straightened, his arm around his middle.  He was hissing madly, and he stumbled into the door of the room, light suddenly shining in as it swung open.

It was a complete one-eighty.  Harry had no clue what was happening. 

“Someone’s here,” said Tom, his voice soft and deadly, and he didn’t even spare another glance for Harry.  He straightened, as much as he could when he was clearly in pain, and held his wand out in front of him as he stepped forward.

Without Tom holding it open, the door swung shut, enveloping Harry into darkness again.

Harry stumbled to his feet, the sheets hindering him from reaching the door in his usual speed.  The tiredness of his limbs was another factor; he was still weak from the ritual, even with a potion and sleep. 

Even with the door closed, Harry heard Dumbledore’s voice.  It was outraged, and loud, and Harry could feel Dumbledore’s magical power emanating.  “Tom,” it was deadly in its shortness, “Why are you at Hogwarts?”

“Get out of the way, Dumbledore,” was Tom’s response, and Harry was just about to push the door open when there was a loud bang. 

It knocked Harry back onto his bum, and he wheezed, the breath knocked out of him. 

There was silence, besides Dumbledore’s single gasp of pain, and Harry struggled to get to his feet.

Had Tom killed Dumbledore?  Who was this wizard?  Had Dumbledore died earlier in the past and they just didn’t know it?  Was that why he was sent back to this particular day?  And if it was, did that mean he failed?

And then suddenly, runes surrounded him.  They were golden and lit up the room, casting shadows everywhere.  They circled madly around him, lines and lines of runes and he recognized them immediately.  They were the runes from the spell that had taken him here.

They sank into his skin, and he was forced to close his eyes as they rose to a blinding light.

When he opened his eyes, he recognized the door in front of him.

It was the door to Dumbledore's office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Loop Iteration 2**

Harry staggered back, his mind reeling. He felt his back hit the wall, and he used the support to gain back control. 

Despite it only having been a blink of an eye, Harry felt oddly refreshed. It didn’t make sense; his reserves had been still dangerously low, but now they were as high as it had ever been. Almost as if he had gotten that night long sleep.

He frowned, wondering if the potion had worked its magic after all. But he had still felt uncomfortably groggy when Tom had been interrogating him.

Still, that wasn’t what to focus on.

Right now, he was in front of the door to Dumbledore’s office. And he had to somehow find his way back to where he had last been, in an attempt to help Dumbledore. 

He refused to think that Dumbledore had already died; that gasp of pain boded nothing good.

He was turning the other way when he heard Dumbledore’s voice.

He stilled immediately, and his thoughts flew rapidly. How did Dumbledore get back up here so quickly? Maybe he had a portkey keyed to his office and was able to escape. 

He knew he was missing something. If Dumbledore escaped to his office, the runes that surrounded him and transported here wouldn’t have done the same. But he was too relieved that Dumbledore was still alive, so he went to push the door open, eager to see the man healthy and whole.

And fell into shock, because he would recognize that voice anywhere.

It was muffled, and he really only heard Tom’s voice in two instances now, but both of those instances had filled him with such terror, he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget those snarky tones.

He let his hand fall immediately.

He needed to get away from here. He needed to warn Dumbledore, but he didn't want to alert Tom to his presence. Tom had acted because he knew Harry was from the future. He had killed Dumbledore because he had felt threatened.

He had to find a place to hide. He wondered if he would be able to find his way back to the small room, but dismissed it immediately. It had valuable potions stored inside; the room would be protected and he wouldn't be able to break the wards.

Then he blinked, looking at his arm that was still outstretched as if it was going to knock on the door.

That wasn't his old robe. It was - he was wearing a Hogwarts robe. Dumbledore must have exchanged it with his old robes when he was sleeping, either to ensure he would be able to blend in if he left the room or to examine his old robes for any clues.

He scowled, but knew it was a futile thought. It wasn't as if he could ask that Dumbledore any questions. The Dumbledore of now wouldn't know the answers.

He must had still been half asleep when he had been getting dressed. There was no way otherwise he wouldn't have noticed the difference between the robes.

It still brought a sense of nostalgia though. He hadn't worn a Hogwarts robe since he was a fourth year...

The year where the Wizards had to go on a run from the Muggles.

He frowned, refusing to let himself go down such a dangerous track. He wasn't in safe territory right now; he had to hide briefly until Tom left Dumbledore's office.

Luckily, Dumbledore’s office was on the first floor and was the same as Professor McGonagall’s during his time. The statue of the wizard wouldn’t be far.

He found it within a few minutes, ducking behind the statue and using magic to uncover the secret entrance.

It was exactly as he remembered it. His father had shown it to him all those years ago. It was a large room, but only had a bookcase to furnish it.

He cast a Tempus charm first, the bright glow of it making him smile. It even lit up the small room.

He didn’t think the two of them would talk for very long. It was already nearing nine, and Hogwarts classes started around then. Dumbledore most likely didn’t have a first period of students then, or else he wouldn’t have risked meeting so early.

He still had a half hour to wait before he headed over.

It wasn’t enough time to do much, but at least Harry could use the hour to meditate.

He had been taught by Remus, his godfather and close friend of his father’s. It helped calm him, and after everything that happened, and his magic reserves being depleted dangerously low, it would give him enough time to make sure nothing was permanently damaged.

It also made his magic presence almost nondetectable and that was what Harry wanted. He wanted Tom to leave the grounds before he approached Dumbledore.

He had worried that the two wizards would had sensed him hovering outside Dumbledore’s door, but he realized later that the surrounding magic of Hogwarts would keep him well hidden.

He was lucky. He didn’t want to face Tom so soon after knowing he killed Dumbledore.

Just thinking about it was making his anxiety skyrocket again.

He took a deep breath and cleared his mind.

* * *

 

He had nothing to fear. He sat himself down in front of Dumbledore, tilting his head up and looking the Professor straight in the eye.

"Read my mind if you don't believe me," he said. "You dosed me with Veritaserum last time. This will be faster."

"My boy," said Dumbledore, obviously unsure of using such illegal and invasive magic on a student and Harry shook his head.

"I'm not a student."

"You're young enough to enroll here," said Dumbledore, but he sighed. "Give me the memory you want me to see."

He hesitated. He knew letting Dumbledore know everything meant that he would learn he had a hatred of Squibs. That had been what set Dumbledore off against him the first time. But he couldn't be picky. Dumbledore needed to trust him to stay safe from Tom later that night or else Tom would kill him once again and the time loop would reset once again.

He really didn't want to relive this day over again. Avoiding Tom by staying in the secret room was not what he wanted to do. He wondered briefly why Tom was visiting Dumbledore in the first place, but knew he would have to wait to ask about it. Getting Dumbledore to safety was the priority.

So he pressed the tip of his wand to his forehead, flinching slightly as he drew the memory out. He kept it to the tip of his wand until it was hovering over Dumbledore's pensive, and let it fall in.

When Dumbledore emerged from the memory, his face was grave. "You speak the truth," he said, "the memory is untampered with."

He shrugged, not taking offense since he knew Dumbledore wouldn't have believed him without tangible evidence. He would had done the same in the Professor's shoes.

Dumbledore sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I wanted to believe better of Tom."

"You have to stay safe," said Harry. "Without you, the Wizarding World will fall to ruin."

He didn't wait to see if Dumbledore agreed, instead taking more memories out of his head and dropping it into the Pensieve.

Dumbledore didn't complain, but his frown deepened. Although he was younger than any of the pictures he had seen, Harry could now see the effects of his age on Dumbledore, in the way the burden weighed heavily on the wizard.

Dumbledore was seeing the destruction of the Muggles firsthand. It wasn't one of Harry's worst nightmares, but the way the Muggles had leveled Hogwarts was still a sight he would never forget. Repeated bombings of the wards erected around Hogwarts had brought them down, and missiles had done the rest. There had been nothing left in the morning. Luckily, the students and teachers had been able to get out in time, but Hogwarts had not survived. None of the artifacts. None of the history.

It was a brutal, decisive loss.

Dumbledore's face was even paler when he came out. "The Muggles?"

His voice was grave.

"You know I'm not lying," he said, but Dumbledore's eyes were hard.

"I had my suspicions," said Dumbledore. "You're young so I believed better."

"What?"

"You manipulated this last memory," he said.

"I - no!" In horror, he realized what had went wrong. It hadn't been his memory he had shown Dumbledore. The spell had been created in the future. It allowed memories to be viewed in a bird-eyes' view, created literally from the memory of an owl. When Hogwarts had been destroyed, no one had been there to see it. Wizards and witches alike had apparated far away; it had been too dangerous to stay near the destruction.

The owls were the only ones to see that day.

But Dumbledore would only see the effects of a spell he had never seen before. The Professor didn't believe he was from the future, and creation of spells were things that rarely happened anymore. That someone would spend so much time on creating a spell used solely for memories was probably inconceivable to him.

And...

He had suspected before. But Albus Dumbledore sympathized with the Muggles. How could his parents not have known?

"I don't know how you were able to manipulate the first memory to seem real, but the last one was anything but. Please get out of my office."

“You’re in danger,” he tried, but he could see Dumbledore had already made up his mind not to believe him. He stood, numb, still shocked that Dumbledore didn’t believe him. The evidence was right in front of the wizard, and he refused to see it.

He wondered if Dumbledore faced this opposition often; even back in his time, the Muggles were only tolerated, not liked. Perhaps it had been even worse in the past…Grindelwald had manipulated the Muggles during his reign of terror.

Dumbledore probably believed he was a teenager, sent to cause up trouble for no reason. Only the thought of being confined to the small room with potions made him hesitate to try again, and he left without another word, seething at Dumbledore’s ignorance.

* * *

 

He didn’t bother trying to follow Dumbledore around. It was too dangerous; the older wizard was far too perceptive to fall for that. He was already on Dumbledore’s radar; the smartest thing to do was to leave Hogwarts before Dumbledore got suspicious enough to question him.

It wasn’t a difficult choice to decide to spend the rest of the day in Hogsmeade. It was a comfort that he had taken advantage of many times in the past, especially when the threat of the Muggles had become more pressing. His parents had worried and their fear had only passed on to him; it was easy to sneak out of planning to hang out with friends. 

He spent the rest of the day holed up in the library in Hogsmeade, in hopes of finding something to explain the loop he was stuck in. But the books of time-travel were ones he read before, and he knew he would have to find the spell’s book in this timeline to truly understand the mess he was in. 

When it got too depressing and his stomach reminded him of his hunger, he headed out to the Leaky Cauldron. The galleons in his pocket jingled as he walked; they were a souvenir from the future.

He was drunk. Even years in the past, the pub was still a lively place. And Harry had enough money to buy a few drinks to soften the pain.

He was watching the clock when it happened. The old clock in the bar had chimed loudly, the hour hand at the intricately carved 8 and the minute at the 12.

The runes surrounded him once again. The patrons of the pub were frozen still, not moving as the clock continued to chime. It seemed to echo even past the customary eight beats, and when the blinding light came, Harry's eyes were already closed.

* * *

 

**Loop Iteration 3**

He wasn't drunk.

He felt chipper. Right as rain as he stared forlornly at Dumbledore's door.

He wished he was still drunk.

He wondered if he could just walk out of Hogwarts. No one had stopped him the last loop.

Dumbledore had still died. Even with his warnings that Tom had been planning to kill him.

He could show Dumbledore his memories again. Show him a different memory. One that was actually his own memory and not one from an owl. 

But that would mean he would have to relive those memories. The ones better left forgotten.

And besides, there was a reason Dumbledore was so quick to disregard him. He was in a different time, and he didn’t know much about the state of Wizarding Society in 1946. Perhaps Dumbledore had a reason to be kind to the Muggles despite most of Wizarding Society only tolerating them.

In any case, Harry didn’t want to go to Dumbledore again. He was still bitter about the last time, when the Professor refused to believe him even with the evidence he had.  And besides, he doubted the Professor had done much even after kicking Harry out of his office. Of course, the Professor had to go teach his lessons, and while Harry was curious behind Dumbledore’s teaching methods, he knew he didn’t have time to idle around. He didn’t know how Tom came back to Hogwarts the first time, but perhaps it was time to follow the other wizard.

Tom left a little earlier than he had expected him to. Last time, he had expected Tom to leave around 9:30. But the wizard had left only ten minutes after Harry arrived.

Harry had played it a little risky, using a disillusionment charm and standing behind the corner instead of heading back to the secret room.

But it had worked out, because Tom hadn’t even glanced over at him. He had emerged from Dumbledore’s office with a slight frown, and had briskly walked down the hallway, heading straight for the exit of Hogwarts.

He had  _suspected_ , of course that Tom wouldn’t stay in Hogwarts. He wasn’t wearing a student’s robes, and he was far too young to be a Professor. But it still confused him, because he could think of no conceivable reason why Dumbledore would invite him into Hogwarts for a meeting.

He didn’t let the confusion slow him down, however, and followed as closely as he could without alerting Tom.

He needn’t have worried. Tom didn’t even look back as he made his way to the floo destination. Harry wasn’t too bothered; Hogwarts only had a few floo destinations connected. And plus, the user would speak his words out loud. For some reason, he had expected Tom to believe Flooing was beneath him, but the other alternative was to make the long trek to the outskirts of Hogwarts. 

“Knockturn Alley,” the wizard spoke, clearly enunciating his words, and Harry stared because he swore Tom had looked directly at him when he did, a little smirk playing on his lips.

He wondered if he should risk following. The chances that Tom had noticed him now were pretty high.

But he had relived this day twice already. He didn’t really have it in him to play cautious anymore.

When he emerged from the fire, soot tickling his lungs, there was no one there.

He had expected Tom to wait. He had no clue where the other wizard could have gone, and had no idea on how Tom had left the flooing destination so fast.  He would had only been less than a minute behind Tom.

With a frown, he turned the corner and then had to swallow a gasp.

Tom was standing there, his expression unreadable. 

“It’s you, then?” asked Tom. He took a step forward, getting uncomfortably close, and Harry was forced to take a step back. 

Harry didn’t have it in him to play dumb.

He shrugged instead, and Tom’s eyes narrowed, a displeased frown marring his otherwise perfect face.

He stepped back and reached out, and Harry had to stop from shivering as those hands smoothed out his robes. “Hogwarts student, and you can’t be anything other than a seventh year.” An elegant brow arched. “Yet I’ve never seen you before.”

There was a silence, and then Tom laughed. He actually sounded like he meant it, and Harry stared at the way the sunlight danced off his locks as he threw his head back. He was uncomfortably unattractive. Even though Tom had been nothing but rude to him, there was no changing that the man was charismatic. Harry couldn’t help watching him in fascination, at the way his eyes crinkled and the way his lips looked as they smiled.

“Walk with me to work,” commanded Tom in the next moment, and Harry was going to refuse, but Tom was turning away and walking already. If Harry didn’t want to shout after him, he would have to follow. 

Tom smirked at him as Harry had to hurry to catch up, and Harry noticed that he was slightly shorter than Tom. He didn’t think Tom could be much older than him.

“Where do you work?” he asked, eventually, as Tom continued to lead them down alleyways with twists and turns. He wasn’t walking very fast, even as it was nearing ten. Harry wondered if Tom actually had a boss, and if his boss actually had any authority over Tom. Somehow, he doubted it.

Tom chuckled, “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing.” 

Tom was obviously in a good mood if he was humoring Harry like this. Tom stopped, gesturing upward. The store they were at was grand, especially for something like Knockturn Alley. Harry had never heard of it in his lifetime; it must’ve gone out of business before he had been born. Regardless, in 1946, the store looked to be well-maintained, despite the old wooden sign that read ‘Borgin and Burkes'.

The inside wasn’t as nice as the outside, but it was still passable. There seemed to be dust in the air when he squinted, and there was barely any light in the store despite the sunlight streaming in. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him, and he nervously looked around, catching the culprit. It was a vase full of eyeballs, and he shivered, pointedly looking away.

Tom waved a hand, and the fireplace came to a roaring crackle, making Harry jump slightly. That made Tom smirk again, and Harry wondered why this Tom seemed to be endlessly amused with him rather than hostile. Though it was most likely because Tom didn’t deem him a threat, not like he had the last time he had met him.

“So,” said Tom, as he went about getting the store ready for the day. And that was boggling in itself, Harry never would’ve imagined Tom to be a simple store clerk. Not with what he had done, threatening Harry and asking about the next Dark Lord with an intensity that couldn’t be matched. “Name?”

His hesitation must’ve shown on his face, because Tom waved his hand flippantly. “You don’t have to give me your last name if you’re so nervous.”

“Harry,” he said, and Tom smiled.

“Tom Riddle,” said Tom, holding his hand out. Harry shook it and Tom didn’t let go. His grip was tight.

“Dumbledore sent you then?”  

Some of his shock must have shown in his face, because Tom's smile was wry. His grip got tighter. "You're not a Hogwarts student. And Dumbledore didn't send you. Quite a mystery, aren't you, Harry?"

He let go of his hand, and took a step back, sending an inquisitive look at Harry. They were interrupted by another wizard entering the store.

Harry's heart was beating fast, but he had no way to easily make an exit. Tom was between him and the exit and he knew Tom would do something to stop him if he tried.

No, not Tom.

Riddle.

At least this venture, no matter how doomed it seemed, gave him Tom's last name. Now he could call him appropriately, because it had felt wrong to him to be using Riddle's first name. They weren't friends. How could they be when Harry knew Riddle was planning to kill Dumbledore that night?

Harry had to find a way to stall Riddle and make him change his mind on killing Dumbledore tonight. Perhaps that would be enough to break the time loop and he could work on changing Dumbledore's point of view on Muggles.

"Any plans tonight?" asked Riddle when the customer had left. Harry had been lost in thought as Riddle was conversing, and realized he had no clue how Riddle had charmed the man into leaving the priceless artifact here without any gold being exchanged at all.

But he knew firsthand Riddle was persuasive when he wanted to be.

"Er," he said, because he wanted to stall but the way Riddle had asked that simple question was making him nervous.

"Dinner at eight," said Riddle. He turned to smile at Harry, his fingers tapping seemingly nervously on the table. Harry stared at the nervous tick, and then his eyes lifted to Riddle's face. There was no emotion in there.

He wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes were intense, boring into him, and Harry couldn't look away.

There was another wizard at the door.

Harry was glad for the distraction, knowing that Riddle would be forced to help the customer.

"Something tells me you're not from around here," said Riddle, pointedly ignoring the wizard.

Harry blinked, and then Riddle gave another slight laugh, and his fingers were still once again on the glass table.

"He'll show you around," said Riddle. The wizard didn't make any indication he heard.

"That's fine," he tried, futilely, and Riddle shook his head.

"It won't be a bother, Harry. Goyle doesn't have any plans either today."

Harry stared in horror at Goyle, who was a hunkering mass of a wizard. He towered over Harry, and when he reached out to grab Harry's arm, it was clear that Tom's request was anything but.

"Come," said Goyle, gruffly, and Harry nearly tripped as Goyle nearly hauled him toward the entrance of the store.

"Oh, and Harry?"

Goyle stopped, forcing Harry to fling out a hand to catch himself on the doorway.

"Do try to enjoy yourself. It'll be your last day here, after all."

Tom's laughter followed them out.

* * *

He had to get a hold of himself. This was hardly the first time Riddle had threatened him.

But Riddle had succeeded in killing Dumbledore twice. Once even with Harry's warning that Riddle was coming.

He had killed the strongest wizard of this time, a wizard that had just killed a Dark Lord if his memory was correct.

And he had been an idiot. He had tried to follow Riddle, and had even been given a clue that Riddle had noticed, and had done so anyway.

He cursed his lack of foresight.

But.

Riddle had left him with Goyle. Goyle may be strong and had a tight grip on him, but Harry still had his wand. And if this Goyle was anything like the Goyles he knew, he had a pretty good chance on escaping as long as he used magic.

Most wizards couldn't access their wands easily when they were held so threateningly. But Harry didn't need his wand to use magic.

He didn't want to hurt Goyle, so he focused his magic on a Stinging Hex. Just a simple one to get Goyle to release his grip. He took a deep breath, and then released it, speaking the incantation out loud. Goyle stiffened in anticipation, and then he howled in pain, letting go of Harry immediately.

Harry grinned, and twisted, getting away from Goyle and pelting away. His speed should easily outmatch Goyle's.

Riddle really shouldn't have underestimated him.

He was snickering to himself even as he twisted and dodged patrons, so he didn't notice when he ran straight into a shield charm. The breath was thrown out of him as he bounced back, and he hissed in pain. He didn't fall though, a petrifying charm held him upright.

"Honestly," said Abraxus Malfoy. Harry would recognize a Malfoy any day, especially after his disastrous rivalry with Draco Malfoy during his school years. He should had known a slimy Slytherin like a Malfoy would be involved.

"Let me go," he tried, and Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him.

"Do you think you're in any position to make demands?" asked Malfoy.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy was already flicking his wand.

_"Stupefy."_

* * *

When he came to, he was sitting across from Riddle.

It took him a while to get the grogginess out of his mind. It felt like he was swimming out of water, and the noisiness of the restaurant around them and the bright lights weren't helping.

The last thing he remembered was getting caught by Malfoy. He must had been sent by Riddle then.

Goyle was a test. He had thought Riddle underestimated  _him_. When really, it was the other way around.

He grimaced at that, and Riddle looked up from the menu, a smile from earlier on his face. "Drink some water," he offered, "it'll help with the headache."

He blinked at Riddle, even as anger started to build. The  _nerve_  of this wizard.

"You're the reason I have one," he said, and Riddle smiled.

"You have quite impressive Occlumency barriers, Harry. Even with my repertoire I wasn't able to break through them. You must have a lot of secrets."

"Doesn't everyone?" he couldn't help sniping back, and Riddle chuckled.

"You more than most, I suspect."

"That's why I'm here then," said Harry. "Or else you wouldn't have went through with this farce."

Riddle's eyebrows furrowed together. "A farce? Harry, this is - "

Harry wasn't looking at Riddle's face, too angry to maintain calm if he did. He was staring directly at the grandfather clock of the restaurant, hoping the methodical moving of the minute hand would calm him. That was the only reason why he noticed the time.

It just clicked into 7:58 when Riddle let out a hiss, and the wine glass spilled onto the white tablecloth, the red liquid staining it. He staggered to his feet, his eyes wide and unseeing as pain wracked the wizard's body.

"How - " choked out Riddle, and then as Harry watched in horror, Riddle focused on him. Riddle's eyes were full of unbridled anger, and his voice was hoarse. "I should've known better than to trust a pretty boy like you."

Not only was the situation leaving him reeling, the fact that Riddle had called him pretty was ...

He yelped as Riddle lunged at him, obviously intent on getting him back for the pain he thought Harry caused, and Harry was raising his hands to defend himself when he heard it.

The chiming of the clock.

Then a loud bang obscured one of the chimes. The last six chimed into a deadly silence.

He didn't know where the attack came from. His eyes had been on Riddle the whole time, and he hadn't even registered anyone getting close enough to hurl a spell at them.

It hit Riddle straight on. It blasted through any shields the wizard had.

When Riddle fell on him, he was dead.

His eyes were still open. They were a dark brown. Lifeless.

Harry gagged at the sight, revulsion and horror filling him as he stared down at Riddle.

Runes surrounded Harry. This time, even as the lights threatened to blind him, Harry couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't tear them away from Riddle's lifeless ones.

When the lights faded, he was at Dumbledore's door once again.

It had never been Albus Dumbledore in danger.

It had always been Tom Riddle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :P i wonder how many of you guys realized it was tom dying not dumbledore! anyway, i have a huge test coming up april, and this is the last of what I have stored up, I'll be working on this after april 13th - right after I finish my white's day fic I'll be on hiatus...unless...I'm a bad engineer and decide to write instead of study, but it's been known to happen. anyone, please leave a comment on what you think! :) thank you as always!

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter (which will be longer, promise, this is just a prologue :) ) will be uploaded next Friday/Saturday. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, let me know in the comments below please! :)


End file.
